Poem: Empty Streets and an Empty Room

Her smell lingers like a ghost
on blankets strewn across the couch. 

Out the window that is frosting
from the cold outside compared
to the warmth inside, and beyond
I see the street is empty. 

She has moved on. 

As I sit on the couch enveloped
in her perfume so wore too strong
it’s the memory that haunts me.

As much as I wish it was as empty
as the black streets below
it holds my hand like she did
twirling me about and wrapping me
in promises about how this time
this time it could be different. 

For a moment I believed her.

For a moment is all I believe her
anymore when there’s line after line 
of lies and excuses, each one I swallow
a bitter poison pill eating me up
from the inside out like emotional
suicide. 

Maybe it’s better to be alone
than to feel the way you made me
feel; so good on the way up, never
enjoying the ride because I knew
it would always end. 

In these late hours I think
I understand your addiction. 

How it would be preferable 
to be numb to the world 
than to be in a home empty
with pain as the only guest.

I smile. 

There’s refuge in knowing
you’re like an abandoned pet;
you’ll always make your way home,
until you don’t. 

In the time between now
and when you return
or don’t 
I’ll always hope for you
that you’ve found something
better than inside your head
and not lying dead somewhere. 

I’ve always been selfish. 

I want you back. 

At least for one more night. 

Copyright © 2021 TJS Sherman All rights reserved.

11 thoughts on “Poem: Empty Streets and an Empty Room

  1. When I read this it feels like a haunting. So many contradictory senses and emotions swirling like an apparition. To decide more is only to make the apparition stop its torment.

    Liked by 1 person

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